


Twelve Pipers Piping

by bluetoast



Series: Birds of a Feather [46]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cancer, Dean is a Whovian, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:52:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1619870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ignacia's a bit broken up by Liesel's Christmas list - all she asked Santa for was to make her mom not be sick. But with a bit of inspiration, Ignacia comes up with the perfect thing for her little girl - and a way to strengthen the girl's belief in the magic all children should feel on Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Pipers Piping

The letter to Santa was heartbreaking in Ignacia's mind. Liesel had no idea what cancer was, but something must have told her it was bad. Most five year old girls would be asking Santa for stacks of gifts – dolls, books, art supplies and bicycles. All Liesel wanted from Santa was for her mommy not be sick anymore. The more she stared at the letter, the more she wanted to try and explain to Lis that she had to get sicker before she got any better. Sighing, she tucked the letter into her jewelry box where she would tell Dean to find it, but he wouldn't be able to find an answer any more than she could.

There were already gifts ready and hidden for Liesel – purchased over the span of the year when things were on sale, the only thing Ignacia never bought until the very end were clothes. The girl was in kindergarten and was wearing clothes meant for three year olds. Whoever said eating all your vegetables would make you big was a liar, at least when it came to Liesel. Even though they'd laid the matter before her pediatrician, that doctor had assured them that the girl was perfectly healthy, she was just little. 

Then he'd issued a line about genetics and she could swear she'd seen Dean's eyes roll into the back of his head. Yes, she was little, yes, her mother was small and yes, from what she could tell from pictures, Mary Campbell had been petite as well, but it wasn't as if there weren't bigger people lurking around Liesel's genetic history. Dean was almost six feet, and both of his brothers were over it. John Winchester was six foot even, from what Ignacia had been told and her own father was six foot two. 

Perhaps Liesel would be tiny until she hit the age of ten and then shoot up like a weed – Dean had told her that's the way he was. Kids grew 'late' in his family, or something. Quite frankly, Ignacia didn't care if Liesel never passed the five foot mark. All she wanted was for her little girl to grow up happy, healthy and safe. 

The first round of chemo would start the day after Christmas. 

Seriously, what the hell?

But the doctors all said the sooner they started treating, the sooner she would get better. 

So for now she maintained a bland diet and took pills to bolster her immune system that made her feel like she'd just belly flopped off the balance beam. But feeling like shit is better than missing Christmas with her family. 

*  
It's in the middle of Liesel's Christmas concert at school that the idea comes to her. The kindergarteners and first graders are together performing 'The Twelve Days of Christmas' and everyone has a part – Liesel is one of the four calling birds, but that's not what gives Ignacia the idea. It's the twelve pipers piping that serves as her inspiration.

*  
The pawn shop is not what she expected. It's not dingy or sad, it reminds Ignacia of a library, of items waiting to be discovered and loved. Money is tight, so she is here to negotiate a trade. Jay Gatz helped her a little with the preparation, because damned if she knows how to get a certificate of authenticity, and it's also shocking that he does. 

“Welcome to Golden Pawn.” The man behind the counter smiles. “How can I help you?”

“Yes, I'm Mrs. Coulter, I called to you about a tenor recorder?” She set her box on the counter, returning the smile. 

“Oh, yes – you called a few days ago. One minute.” The man walked away and returns with a navy case. “Here it is.” He pressed the latches and then opened the lid, revealing a dark brown instrument that gleams against the velveteen of the interior, as if it were a member of the brass family, instead of the woodwinds. “It's six hundred dollars.”

She swallows involuntarily at the price. She didn't think it would be so much. “I don't suppose you'd be interested in a trade?”

The man looks down at her covered box. “Possibly. What were you willing to trade?”

Ignacia pulled the cloth aside, revealing the shadow box underneath – inside, her jersey, pants and leotard from the Sydney Games – along with a photograph of her on the medal stand. “This. I'm not sure if you're....”

“Shit.” The man looks from the photograph and then back up to her. “You haven't aged a day.” 

What a liar. “If you'd like me to sign anything inside, I will.” 

The man looked from the recorder to the shadow box and then back at her. “I can't make this trade... and still sleep at night. I'm going to have to add something to it.”

“Pardon me?” This wasn't something she was prepared for.

“Mrs. Coulter, people go nuts over this Olympic stuff. It's hard enough getting things from athletes who played for _this_ country, let alone a different one, Canada, if you're lucky.”

“The United States frequently has teams over three hundred, in both Summer and Winter Games.” She didn't understand why he was so worked up.

“I can't trade this for the recorder...” He took a breath. “Is there anything else you're looking for?”

*  
When she comes back home, Ignacia tells Dean everything and about her plan. They both cry, but through the tears, Dean tells her it's a wonderful idea.

*  
Liesel Coulter woke up early on Christmas morning, but knew she wasn't allowed to go downstairs until after seven-thirty. That was the rule. She stretched and yawned, and caught sight of a box with a red bow sitting on her desk. She got out of bed and went over to her desk, picking up the dark blue envelope resting on the box, frowning at the circles on the front – those looked familiar, somehow...

Frowning, she flipped open the box's latches and then lifted the lid. She blinked at the shiny dark brown recorder – it... it looked like the Doctor's – but the Doctor wasn't real, was he? She opened the envelope and pulled out a small piece of paper. The printing was unfamiliar – but at least it was print – she couldn't read cursive yet.

_Liesel -_

_My good friend Santa Claus told me about your letter. While he wanted me to assure he's going to do everything in his power to grant your request, he asked me if I could help find you something special in the meantime._

She frowned. She didn't know what a lot of the words in this letter meant – mama and daddy would have to help her.

_I was looking for my fez that River had hidden in the TARDIS when I stumbled across my old recorder. I don't really have much time to play it any longer and thought it would be best if I left it with someone who will take good care of it for me._

_Happy Christmas!_

_The Doctor_

Again, there are more words she doesn't understand – but there's plenty she does. Her eyes are now as wide as she looks from the letter to the recorder. It's the Doctor's recorder, sitting there, on her desk. Mama, Daddy, Mr. Jay and all her grandparents had told her Santa was real. And if Santa was real, that meant The Doctor was real too. 

And she didn't doubt that Mama wouldn't be sick for very long. In fact, in that moment, Liesel was convinced her mama was going to be all better by her birthday in June.


End file.
